The Meaning of Blinking, Orange Lights
by Celtic Spacey
Summary: They had crashed, something was out there in the dark, and the flashing light was doing its best to drive Dean insane. Wee!Chesters Oneshot.


A/N: For angel_death_dealer. Who has been having a awful time recently and wanted a wee!chester story to help cheer her up.

The Meaning of Blinking, Orange Lights

It's dark. He knows that and yet it's not. Not dark. Not really. There is a light, an orange glow. A bath of light that is there but isn't. His head is heavy and thick, he has decided that his brains are like scrambled eggs, dads scrambled eggs and not Uncle Bobby's or Pastor Jim's, because Bobby and Jim make light and fluffy eggs whilst dad makes something that looks like a dog threw up and sinks like stones and makes Sam pull a face like he's going to throw up himself until dad takes the plate away and throws it in the trash.

The light is there and then it's not. Light that bathes the area briefly in orange before it plunges it again into darkness. The brief flashes of light show him a world that is strange, confusing to his eyes. It takes him a while, a huge number of the flashes of orange and nothing, to build up the picture enough to understand it, and then he realises that he is upside down, lying on his back with his head cranked at a painful angle so that he can see the flashes of light, the sky is flashing orange because what his mixed up brain is registering there is truly the road, the orange, flickering light, rise from below, although it is really coming from above, is a street light, darting his eyes to the side makes pain shoot angrily through his head, but he spots other orange lights, further up the road, not flickering, a solid, consistent orange light that shows him trees, crazily upside down, but nothing else.

He is becoming more aware. Now that his mind is focussing on something the scramble is lessening, the egg that is his brain rebuilding itself. He is aware mostly of pain, on top of his head and his neck, his back is throbbing, dull pain, his one leg is numb and painful at the same time, it takes him some moments to realise that it is twisted back and under, pressing sharply into his rear. Mostly he is aware of his shoulder, the pain there is brutal, stabbing with each breath. He thinks it is dislocated, that has happened before when he fell down the stairs, but there is something else, his collarbone is sending the majority of white hot pain through him, making him whimper, though he will never admit it.

He tries to move, to shift slightly, and cries out, his eyes whitening, the orange and the black departing into the vicious white that stole sound and sight, and his body stilled, the white faded, and instead he heard the screech of tires, a scream, mingling with another, and black, a shadow passing through his vision before the world goes topsy-turvy and then obliterates as he loses consciousness.

He is in a car, he understands. Not _the_ car, because the car is home, and is safe and smells like week old burgers, and leather and dad, but he is in a car. His brain, hurting and now beginning to tire, tries to make sense of this, how he can be in a car but not the Impala, not home, when he hears again the screams, a woman's and another, shriller, more childlike.

His brain pulls out a face, no name, just a face, a woman, the owner of the scream, owner of the car, old like dad, her hair curly and brown but beginning to grey and smiling eyes, not haunted like dad's, who has seen his wife die and knows that what did it is something he would be sent to the mental asylums for, or Uncle Bobby's, although Dean doesn't know his story the haunted look is the same. This lady's eyes don't show the haunting he sees in the eyes of the people he counts as family, though they are alight with sadness when she looks at the Winchester family, she knows Mary is dead and sympathises, feels for them.

_Sam._

The name hits him hard now. And his body reacts like it's been shocked, tensing so much the pain and white light not only return, they _expand_, consuming his entire world. He is aware that he is screaming, and as soon as it all fades away the name echoes in his head

_Sam_

And his head twists; the white light and pain returning, but his has turned his head, is looking across the expanse of the car.

His brain scrambles again, and it takes him a few moments to piece together image he sees, especially now that he is blocking some of the light that comes and goes. But when he puts together the pieces the pain stops dead, his blood freezes.

Sam is lying on the other side of the car, on his back like Dean, pushed up against the far window which is cracked heavily, radiating across the whole sheet of glass, the central point stained with blood he knows is Sam's. Sam's body is twisted somewhat, his limbs flung towards the far window and obscured slightly by the car seat the lady had got for him. His head is tipped slightly, he isn't moving, and that makes a sob catch in Dean's throat, but the blood pooled in Sam's eye socket is what scares him the most, makes his breath shudder and his blood go cold, he can see Sam, green eyes flashing brightly as Dean before one dulls, swells, pops suddenly as though through strain. He can't bear the thought, and yet he believes completely that Sam has lost his eyes somehow, some fragment of glass has hit it and burst it like a dropped tomato.

"Sam," he is not aware at first that he has said his baby brothers name, but now he has said it, now that name has entered the air, it is a mantra, his voice like a broken recorded, becoming louder, more frantic as his fear builds and mingles with his pain.

"Sam! Sam! Sammy please!"

He is forced to stop when he has to drag in a breath of air, realises he is crying, the flickering light is driving him mad now, screwing with his vision, making him think Sam is moving when he's not, for all he knows Sam is dead, he is lying upside down in a car that isn't home with his dead brother and he has no idea where his father is.

There is a noise, so soft he almost misses it, but it's enough to make his cries fade away, his tears wet on his cheeks, and his breath stops in his chest

"Dea?" to him it is perhaps the most beautiful sound in the world. Even the tiny whimper that follows behind it is an amazing sound to him, enough that a few more tears dampen his cheeks, though he doesn't make a sound, doesn't cry again.

"Dea?" Sam's voice again, tiny and pain filled, Sam's face is orange in the light, not there one moment and then orange the next, but he is alive, Dean knows this completely, and that is all he needs.

"Sammy," he says softly, breathlessly, and Sam shifts slightly, tenses in pain, and cries out, the sound ripping through the car, sounds both terrifying and amazing to Dean.

Dean croons softly as Sam's cries die back, whispering nothing and everything until he is able to quiet his brother down

"Dea?" Sam's voice is still quiet, and Dean quietens, straining to hear his brother, "Dea, what happened? I'm hurt. I want daddy Dean," the last is a wail, and his brother sounds tiny. Sam is tiny, only six and still smaller than Dean was at that age, wearing hand-me-downs from when Dean was both four and five, but Sam is brilliant, even at six that is visible, sounds smarter than his size allows the mind to believe, and Sam only wants dad when he is sick or hurt.

"Don't worry Sammy," he whispers, the flashes of light allow him to see the pool of blood is running now, leaking from Sam's eye socket and down his face. Bloody tears he tries to un-see "Dad's coming Sammy, I swear."

The orange light is back. And it's only with its appearance that he realises he much have fallen unconscious again. He is still looking at Sam, the well of blood in his eye has become more than tears running down his cheek, its now a river, but the pool looks as though it has drained away somewhat, been pulled down the side of Sam's face. He can hear his brother, quiet snuffling noises that either mean Sam is crying and trying not to let him know, or has fallen asleep whilst crying. He calls Sam's name, but gets no response. This means nothing though; Sam has been known to ignore him if he really doesn't want Dean to know he's crying.

The woman's face swims in his mind again. He is still failing to recall a name, but now that he has turned his head he can see into the front, his view of the outside world is gone, but he can see the inside of the car quite clearly. The woman is not in the front. Or if she is then she is doing an amazing Houdini impression, because Dean can't see her. He expects she is not there though. The driver's door is missing. Not open but actually gone, as though it has been ripped from the rest of the car, the windscreen is cracked, and what he can see of the front seats and the dashboard and steering wheel show a crazy pattern of tears and scratches. As though something reached in and tore the woman out.

His stomach lurches, he remembers the shadow that passed in front of the car, and he hopes, somewhat selfishly, that whatever got the woman does not come back for him and his brother, that the woman has satisfied it's hunger.

He listens carefully, but all he can hear is Sam's snuffling breaths, rough and uneven, and decides that there is nothing prowling around outside and that hopefully means the shadow is full and happy, and does not want to come back for two small children.

He lies there in silence, staring at Sam as the younger boy disappears and comes back orange in the flickering street light, feeling his body numbing as he becomes accustomed to the pain, or perhaps to the cold, it is nearing his birthday, and the world is still freezing even though the Christmas snow has melted. He is listening to Sam breathing, the only noise, and wondering how long they've been here. How long has he been unconscious, has Sam been unconscious? He doesn't know where they are, can't even remember the city or the state they're in at the moment, but surely someone must have gone passed and seen the car? There are street lamps. If nothing else on this road with its upside-down trees, it has street lamps and that must count for something he's sure, and yet he can hear nothing but Sam's breathing, is slowly becoming aware of his own, hitching slightly, panicky, because he doesn't know how long they've been lying there, he doesn't know how badly hurt Sam is hurt, or where they are, or who the lady driving was. The only things he knows are that he hurts and that the street lamp flickering on and off is going to drive him completely mad if someone doesn't get here soon.

The light is back again. He doesn't know how many times this happens, or for how long, but he is suddenly aware of the orange light again, and this makes him realise that he is waking up again. They are still in the car, but he is suddenly aware that the orange light is different. Someone has apparently worked out that the fastest way to send him mad is to change the colours, to add more, the orange and black intermingled with red and blue, and he wants to cry suddenly.

He is aware of a voice, not Sam's, and not the woman's. This is a man's, but not dad's or belonging to any of the hunters he knows, and at first he takes nothing from it, it is just his mind turning in on itself, the lights have done their job and he has gone crazy alright, and then he feels a touch on the top of his head, light and sudden, unexpected, it shocks him into solid reality, and he gasps in surprise, again at the burst of pain it brings with it.

"You're alright kid, help is on its way, just stay with me kid, alright?" the touch, a hand he realises, slips down his head, awkwardly cupping his chin before sliding down to rest on his neck; checking his pulse he realises, and then it slides away entirely. His eyes drift, moving to the front of the car, and there is a man there alright, bathed alternatively in orange red and blue so that it takes Dean a moment to work out that the upside down man is not, he is the right way around, twisted awkwardly in the gap between the front seat. A cop, a sheriff to be more precise, as the lights flash on the star on his chest and turn it into a disco, and Dean looks at him with mixed views, dad doesn't trust police, and yet this man is here to save him from the craziness of the light he hopes.

"What's your name kid?" the sheriff asks, eyes flickering between Sam and Dean, his looks concerned and worried, but he has noticed that Dean is perhaps slightly more aware now, his attention shifting to Sam, stretching out to touch against Sam's forehead. Dean's eyes follow his movements, and as the man's hand move to Sam's neck he whimpers and shifts as though to try and stop him, for a moment he thinks the man is the shadow, and he will rip Sam away from the car and from him, and the sheriff freezes, hand hovering over Sam, looking at Dean.

"I'm not going to hurt him," the sheriff says in something that sounds vaguely like a promise, in his head Dean suddenly hears dad's voice '_she'll look after you whilst I'm gone'_ and look how that promise has turned out, and he moves again, cautiously laying fingers against Sam's neck, searching for his pulse. Dean watched him apprehensively, and almost cries again when the man takes his hand from Sam and pulls a radio from his hip, saying something quick and confusing.

"What's your name kid? What's his name? Is he your brother? Who was driving the car?" the questions come fast after the man has finished on his radio, and they threaten to drown Dean. He feels hot tears burn at his eyes and then on his face, and the sheriff's face twists, as though he realises he's the cause and wants to make amends.

"Sorry," he says quickly "Calm down, help is coming. We'll help you and you brother?" he pauses now, and Dean's eyes fly to Sam, affirming the man's suspicion that they are related "We'll get you both fixed up. Were you mum or dad in the car?" he adds, and Dean just sniffs. How do you say your mum's dead and your dad's hunting for her killer without getting taken away?

"Dean," he said quietly, and the sheriff's brow furrows for a moment before he understands.

"You're Dean?" he asks, smiles lightly when Dean nods, "Okay, Dean. What's your brother's name? Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean says in a whisper, his eyes are again on Sam, he is staring at his brother, watching the lights change his face different colours. Decides he hates the red, which flushes Sam's entire face with blood, the most, and he doesn't hear anymore of the sheriff's words.

Something is going over his face, and he panics, trying to pull away. His entire body is frozen, held tightly, and this makes him panic more. All around him he can hear voices, shouts of numbers and words that bleed more and more into one another until they are like some alien language, and above it all he can hear a wailing noise like a siren. He can't see Sam, and that makes him all the more scared, because Sam was there, still and bathed in those lights but there, and he can't see his brother because there are people and shadows and God knows what else in the way and he panics even more. He head is spinning, his entire body screaming in pain, and over all the noise he can hear his own breaths, sharp and heavy pants, and his eyes roll and he tries to buck against whatever his holding him still, he just wants to see Sam.

Something scratches his arm, sharp and painful, somehow more there than the rest of the pain in his body, and he loses the ability to struggle little by little, can feel his consciousness slipping away even as he fights it. The shadows and people are moving the noise they are making fading as he lowers into the darkness, but the last thing he sees before he disappears into the dark is Sam, pale and still with his jumper gone and an oxygen mask over his face.

This time he doesn't see orange but white, and that is perhaps the biggest relief in the world. That is until he feels the sick rising into his mouth, making him cough and gag, and then the world spun. He feels something against his shoulder, and the white disappears into a swirl of colour, and then he throat burns viciously as he vomits.

A hand rests against his back, rubbing soothing circles, and a voice rumbles as he empties whatever has been hiding in his stomach, and as the retching recedes he realises he knows that voice, and hope flairs in his chest.

"Dad?" he whispers, his voice comes out croaky, his throat hurts painfully, but he is tipped again, staring again at the white he understands now is the ceiling and then a face comes into view. _Dad's _face comes into view. He looks exhausted, there are black bags like bruises under his eyes and he needs a desperate shave, but it is without doubt dad, and that's all Dean needs to burst into tears.

John responses by lifting his ten year old son into his arms, cradles the boy to his chest like a baby as he sits on the bed, and the Winchester patriarch cries with him.

A man enters the room shortly, and dad lays him on the bed. The man is wearing a white coat and has blond hair and this apparently is all he needs to pounce on Dean, poking and prodding as he 'examines' the boy and fires a million questions that Dean only half hears and barely responds to. The entire time he is staring at dad, watching his father who is watching the doctor.

The doctor finally leaves, and the door has barely swung back on its hinges before Dean says one word

"Sammy?"

John's face moves uncomfortably, like he is trying not to cry again, and he smoothes down Dean's hair

"He's pretty beat up Sport," he admits, because Dean hates bullshit and recognises a lie about his brother within a heartbeat "He broke some ribs in that crash you had, they hurt his lung. He's still in ICU on a ventilator. I've just been with him," he adds, one hand holding onto Dean as though the elder boy would jump up and charge around to find his brother. To be fair, he would, but he knows he hasn't got the strength. "He's sleeping Dean, he doesn't know it's there." Dean looks at him like he doesn't believe it, but slowly nods, and against his will falls back to sleep.

He wakes up again to the white ceiling. But this time it isn't dad beside him but Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim, both worried looking but smiling, happy he's alright.

"Dad?" he asks, followed immediately with "Sammy?"

"Your dad's with him," Pastor Jim sooths, taking one of Dean's hands and holding it tightly, the warmth there is soothing, and Dean falls away from whatever panic he was going to work himself into "They're going to try and take Sam off the ventilator, and if they can they'll bring him down here." He shifts now, shows Dean the other bed set up in the room. Sam's bear is already sat there, waiting for his brother to join it, and he offers the Pastor a quick smile.

He realises he has fallen asleep again only after he wakes up. Pastor Jim and Bobby are still there, sat in a corner and reading through books with conspiratory dedication; heads close so that they could whisper to each other as they wrote notes, dad is asleep in the chair beside the bed. Between the beds, and his eyes slide past his father.

"Sammy!" he cry startles the three men, Pastor Jim and Bobby turn like guilty children, and John slips from his chair as he is thrown awake. The man is there for barely a second before he is on his feet and beside his eldest, smiling at the boy even though his eyes are on his little brother, asleep and with a mask over his face – like the last time Dean saw him – but without the blood on his face or the awkward broken doll posture and, best of all, right _there_, where Dean could see him.

"Hey Sport," dad says gently, glances in the same direction as Dean is still staring, looks at his youngest before turning again to Dean "He's alright, just needs to rest. You want to sit up?" he nods without taking his eyes from Sam, who continues to be far too still.

His attention is solely on Sam, so when dad hits the button and the bed shuffles into movement he is surprised so much that he gasps, first as the bed starts to move, second as pain shoots through his body, his collarbone and his stomach screaming louder and angrier than everything else.

Dad is still beside him, and when his steadying hand rests on his arm Dean leans into his father, whimpering and wild eyed as he finally takes his eyes from Sammy and gives John a beseeching look.

"Sorry," John says, and he certainly looks it, and when the pain eases away and Dean relaxes into the pillows at his back, sitting up somewhat so that his view is no longer just of the ceiling but also the walls; mixes of colour that show animals there, circus animals; elephants on giant balls and sea lions juggling bowling pins. A children's room in a children's ward in a hospital.

"Easy kiddo," Dad says gently, still smiling at Dean, "You got knocked around pretty bad, busted up your insides; you're going to be sore for a while." He waited until Dean had nodded to show he understood before his hand leaves Dean's arm, and he ruffled the kid's hair.

"John," Pastor Jim says softly, and Dean notices that the two men are still watching him, have not gone back to their books but are watching him like they expect something.

"Dean," dad's looking tense now, his tone demanding Dean give him his full attention, and Dean blinks up at his father "Dean, what happened? What happened to Claire?" Dean blinks again, and then the smiling woman's face appears in his mind, followed by her scream, in stereo with Sam's. He shakes his head, because he doesn't know; what he saw was a shadow that may or may not have been there. Could have been nothing but could be everything. And John nods, glances back to the other hunters who nod solemnly as well as finally turn away, whispering like conspirators again, and as dad sits back between the two beds Dean returns his eyes to Sam.

Dean wakes up again to screaming. At first he is confused, and then the scream slams home, and he recognises it.

"Sammy!" he shouts, and lurches up as though he's been shocked. The pain assaults him straight away, red hot through his middle that makes him white out, and when he comes back from the white world Sam has stopped screaming; there is a doctor standing over his brother, his father is hovering just behind the man, and Pastor Jim is beside him.

"Easy Dean," the man tells him "You moved to fast, didn't you? Just take it easy, easy. That's it." He smiles easily at the boy, his eyes following Dean's as the elder boy tries to see his brother past the men stood between them.

"Sam?" he says, hears the doctor speaking to his father without understanding the words "Sam? Sammy?" his breath is beginning to come in pants; he's getting agitated by the lack of response from his sibling who had been screaming bloody murder just moments before.

"Easy Dean, easy, calm down," dad is beside him, dad and the doctor and they're still obscuring his view of his brother, and he is fighting them now, pushing away the hands that are trying to still him, calling out for Sam and getting no response. A mask is placed over his face, covering his mouth and filling it with the taste of oxygen. The mask makes him feel claustrophobic, and he fights harder.

"A sharp scratch Dean," the doctor says as the pain hits his arm. He feels cool liquid enter his vein, and his limbs start to lag until he is lying limp in the bed, panting heavily and staring at his father as tears burn down his cheeks.

"Sam's fine Dean," John says quietly as Dean's eyelids flutter "He's going to be fine, just rest, sport."

The next time he wakes up he immediately tips his head, and his eyes light up. Sam is in the bed opposite, but better than that Sam is awake, staring back at his brother from over the top of his bear; a pair of eyes visible over the crown of brown fur, Sam is using the bear as a shield. He cracks a grin at his brother, a real one, because he can see Sam is awake, and the bear is lowered as Sam grins back quickly, the smile falling away into a line of pain, and the smaller boys eyes snap to their father, sleeping in the chair between them.

Dean's eyes follow Sam's, and then he looks around the room. The chairs Bobby and Jim occupied last time are empty, the books they had piled on the floor between the two empty seats. Dean suspects they are on a coffee run, and doesn't speculate any further, instead he sits up on his bed, ignores the spikes of pain that run through his body and pulls at the IV lodged in his arm. The needle comes out easily, leaves spots on his bed as it continues to drip and his arm is spotting blood happily, but he doesn't even notice, the only thing holding him in the bed was the IV and that's lying on the sheets, so with a quick glance at their father, still asleep, oblivious to his sons and what they're doing, and then Dean is climbing off the bed.

He is across the floor as soon as his feet hit cold tiles, pushes back the pain as he climbs onto Sam's bed, and sits on the edge gasping. Sam is unconcerned, as soon as Dean is on his bed he is pressed against his side, clinging to Dean's hospital gown like a limpet, staring around and shivering.

Dean frowns at his brother, remembers what their father had said about Sam's ribs and lung and shifts on the bed so that he is lying against the pillows and more importantly so is Sam, and he glances as their father; still asleep.

"You okay?" he asks Sam in a whisper as he snaps his head back to his brother. Sam nods, and flicks his gaze up to Dean's face. Two green eyes stare up at him and Dean suddenly relaxes, Sam can obviously see him, Sam is not blind in one eye, Sam's eyes are fine.

"Does your chest hurt?" he asks now, because Sam is a Winchester and won't complain about injuries if he can help it. Sure enough, there is a hesitation before Sam nods slowly, and Dean nods back solemnly and curls Sam closer, protectively.

They are asleep before John wakes up.

They are in the hospital for another week. A week in which they sleep and drive their father to despair. Dean wakes up at one point to find the three men gone, and a glance to the chairs that Bobby and Jim occupy; the books are no longer there, states that they know what was out there that night. Or at least think they know, and have gone to deal with it.

In that week they were woken by screaming.

It was Sam's shrill cry that wrenched him from sleep the first time. And he had stared blearily as John had tried to comfort his youngest as he had sobbed until he had to pick the boy up and cradle the shaking child to him.

The second time he had been wrenched from sleep to realise that the scream was his own, and this time John sat on the bed, one arm going around his eldest's shoulder as he had murmured soothingly into his ear. When he had calmed down enough for John to ask what the dream had been about he had only been able to recall the shadow, the screams and his brothers bloody eye, and had shook his head as he wiped his tears away.

They had traded off on the nightmares, or had both woken up screaming simultaneously, and John had been patient, holding and soothing both of his children through the dreams.

Dean's fears abated the day that they were told they could go home. Or, at least, he had learnt to not scream when the dream attacked. His father knew this. He had taken one look at John when he had snapped his eyes open with a soundless gasp, and knew from the slight frown that John knew, but was happy his father hadn't called him up on it.

It was dark and Sam was asleep when John strapped him into his seat, and he turned to look at Dean. The elder Winchester boy merely gave his father a look in return before he climbed into the back seat beside Sam, his little brother curling into his side with a sigh. John had glanced at them one final time before closing the back door of the car, turning away to speak to Bobby and Jim before climbing into the front.

"We're going to Jim's," he told his eldest as the engine rumbled into life "Home until you and Sam are ready to move on." Dean nodded silently in response, lay his head on top of Sam's as John turned the tape player on quietly. A soft sigh escaped him as they drove away from the hospital. He wasn't bothered where they were going. Sam was beside him, safe and alive, and in the Impala they were safe and home.

The lights blinked orange, and he tensed as he realised where they were, looking over Sam's head out of the window as they passed the flickering street light, Sam whimpering as he sensed his brothers tension even in his sleep. And as they drove slowly by Dean watched the light flicker from orange to black, orange to black.

And he tried to ignore the shadow that streaked across the pavement.


End file.
